


A Trill in Time

by Zhie



Series: Bunniverse [46]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Baking, Bunniverse, F/M, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 13:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11783901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Just a couple of hot summer days many many years apart.





	A Trill in Time

:: Years of the Trees; Valinor ::

There was a soft glow in the fireplace and a simple strain of lazy notes lingering one after the other. Erestor’s eyes were closed, and his lips curved around the wooden mouthpiece as he wondered if he would fall asleep whilst playing yet again this eve.

A welcome breeze billowed the curtains as he repeated the melody that would haunt him in coming years. His eyes opened slightly, and he watched a confused firefly dart into the room from outside, spy a candle, and court it briefly before rushing out again with the wind. Lifting his feet one after another onto the footrest, Erestor continued to play and fight the nagging yawns that interrupted his overture.

From the kitchen, someone hummed along, managing to keep the song from breaking apart despite Erestor’s obvious need for rest. It was late summer, and the rain coupled with the light of the trees had kept the crops growing steadily. Unlike most summers, there was little for Erestor to maintain in the fields – he had plowed over the unsuccessful attempt at growing cotton two summers prior, and in place of that crop was more corn. The last harvest would be in a few weeks, but until then, Erestor was generally enjoying the time off that he had. Then, the humming stopped.

“What are you up to in there, glitter-bug?” Erestor waited for a response, but when he did not receive one, he stood up and took his flute with him into the kitchen. “Need some help with that?” he asked, leaning against the doorway.

Turning around, Artanis beseeched him with a pout and a flutter of her golden lashes. Grinning, Erestor set the flute on the counter as he passed it and came to her rescue, moving aside trays of sweet cakes and little pies that she had set to cool earlier in order to make room for the ones that had just finished. “Thank you, honeybear,” she said, lifting the tray up and sliding it onto the rack. “Whew!” Wiping the sweat from her brow, she made her way to the counter, where parchment cones filled with frosting and glaze were waiting. The bountiful harvesting allowed for more than they could use or store, and so Artanis had taken to baking once a week and selling the items at market with Erestor. They had plans for the coin they were able to set aside. First they talked of using it for a nice little wedding, but her father insisted that he would pay for that when the time came. So now there were sketches of what could be done to add another room or two onto their cottage, because 'the children should all have their own rooms, when the time comes', Artanis had said. It fueled Erestor's desire to sell everything they took to market for the best price, and he developed very keen skills of persuasion because of it.

“Do you need to do this now?” asked Erestor as he surveyed the kitchen. The heat had stayed contained in the room while the doors had been closed, and though some of it was escaping out the window, the kitchen was uncomfortable nonetheless.

“What should I be doing instead?” Artanis was already decorating the baked treats, and gave a little gasp as the bag of frosting was removed from her hand.

Setting the bag down onto the counter, and picking up his flute, Erestor took hold of his lover’s hand. “We can do this in the morning once they have all cooled.   
The heat will cause your delicate sugar scrolls to run together now anyhow. Come with me; this way, please,” he instructed, leading her out of the hot kitchen into the living room. They stopped beside his large stuffed chair and he removed his shirt, tossing it onto the table. He sat down and patted the space that was open between his legs on the chair.

Smoothing her dress out as she sat, Artanis leaned back against Erestor as his arms pulled her closer. She propped her legs onto the footstool, tangling hers with his. Another gust of wind came through, puffing out the loose curtain nearest to them that the hem whipped across their toes. “Storm coming,” she said, closing her eyes and turning her head to the side to nestle against his chest.

“Mmmhmm,” he agreed, eyelids drooping as well. He fiddled with the flute in his hands. Much as he wanted to play it again, his lips were slightly chapped from his daily work in the fields. Nudging Artanis until she sat up, he handed the flute to her.

“What? What should I do with this?” she questioned, turning it over and over in her hands.

“Whatever one does with such a thing,” he suggested, smirking a little when she rolled her eyes.

“I cannot play this,” she reminded him, trying to hand it back. “You play it.”

“No, no, little lamb, I played it all evening. Your turn now.” Erestor sat up and positioned the flute near Artanis’ lips. “Just put your lips around it really tight, and blow. I know you can do that,” he half-whispered, half-growled into her ear.

Snickering, Artanis swiped her tongue over her lips and then placed the end in her mouth. “Like this?” she asked, but it came out garbled around the instrument.

“Yes.” Erestor still held the instrument up, parallel to the ground, but his fingertips did not touch the holes. “Now...” and he let out a puff of air against her ear that caused her to shiver.

A funny little squeaky-squawk issued forth at first, but then Erestor gently covered two of the holes with his fingers and said, “Not so hard.” The second and third notes came out a little better.

Behind Artanis, Erestor began to hum the tune she had in the kitchen, and while he determined the pitch, she experimented with different ways of breathing life into the instrument. Her eyes kept watch on his hands, and she placed her fingers over his until confident enough to play on her own.

“Beautiful,” Erestor murmured, leaning back in the chair.

“Really?” Artanis stopped playing to turn her head and regard him. 

“It sounds perfect,” he said.

“You think so?” she asked in disbelief, for the squeaks had not entirely diminished, and she only knew a handful of notes.

Erestor nodded. “Keep playing for me, glitter-bug,” he insisted, resting back in the chair again. Once more, his arms reached out to pull her closer, and he held her possessively against him, not too tightly, as she experimented with the flute.

 

:: First Age; Gondolin ::

As Ecthelion finished the final trill, those around the Lord of the Fountain applauded his skill. He stood and bowed with a smile, and immediately there was another request.

On the grass of the courtyard, beneath the shade of a tree, Glorfindel kept clapping until the music began once more. “Just beautiful,” he remarked. “Have you ever heard someone play the flute so perfectly before?”

“I have,” said Erestor to his friend as they listened to the next selection Ecthelion played. “But... that was a long, long time ago,” he reflected in a melancholy voice.


End file.
